


Love Doesn't Come with an Instruction Manual

by avienexjel



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, Multi, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Parent Tony Stark, Platonic Soulmates, Protective Tony Stark, Romantic Soulmates, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark is Good With Kids, Tony Stark's A+ parenting, but actually A+
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 21:27:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19364383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avienexjel/pseuds/avienexjel
Summary: Tony Stark has two looming problems in his life.1) Almost all of his teammates have been de-aged due to an accidental spell, and they'll probably remain that way for at least a good month.  Tony already knows he and parenting don't really go hand-in-hand, but there's no way he's letting them out of his sight.2) The aforementioned de-aged teammates are part of a six-person soulbond missing its last piece...and that piece is Tony.  Not that they'll ever find out.  Why would they want someone like Tony Stark in their soulbond anyway?





	Love Doesn't Come with an Instruction Manual

**Author's Note:**

> “To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”  
> ― C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

**clenched soul -** _pablo neruda_

 

When the Avengers all moved into Stark Tower, Tony didn't know what he had been expecting.  He was under no delusions that they would suddenly like him or get to know him, but apparently he had been the only one to miss the "bonding" memos.  Within five months of their initial move-in, the other Avengers - while not without their awkward moments - had become friends. Hell, even  _ Thor  _ had managed to become close to the rest of them with his big-teddy-bear personality, even despite being on Asgard half the time and additionally lacking a soulmark as an alien.

Tony figured they were trying to make more of an effort since they were all soulbonded; some people didn't place their trust in soulbonds, but those were a rare few.  In any case, the four other Avengers seemed to be trying hard to get along with each other and learn each other's triggers, fears, pleasures, etcetera, etcetera. And it wasn't like they were trying to  _ exclude  _ Tony, per se - it's just that he wasn't their soulmate, romantic or platonic or whatnot.  Well,  _ technically  _ Tony was their soulmate, they just didn't know that.  And hopefully, they would never have to know that.

Sometimes it hurt that they had accepted Barnes so easily after Steve had found the Winter Soldier hiding in Germany, but it was fine - after all, Barnes was a good guy and a better soulmate.  And Tony was happy for all them, because no matter how much he might want to be part of their tight-knit little family, he knew he didn't belong. He was a murderer, a monster, a playboy who slept little but slept with people often - and all of his dirty business was plastered on the Internet.  Anyone who could simply ignore all that he'd done wrong was just plain stupid, and if there was one thing his soulmates weren't, it was that.

Tony mulled this over as he lay in bed, unable to sleep.  The other Avengers (excluding Thor, who had romped off to Asgard again) were on a mission, and Tony had been held back (though this was not borne from his  _ own  _ decision) because of a sprained wrist and ankle.  Sprains didn't even bother him! It wasn't like he hadn't had worse - hell, he'd had half his chest caved in and blown with shrapnel at one point in his life.  Sprains were nothing. But good ol' Cap had leveled him with a flat, disapproving look as usual and had said firmly: "No, Tony. You're benched."

_ No, Tony, you're benched,  _ Tony mimicked moodily in his head.  He could be out there,  _ helping,  _ even if it was just a routine check on an abandoned HYDRA base.  Obviously if they had brought Bruce, who was basically the brawn of the bunch, then they were expecting at least a minor injury for the doc or even a larger problem for the Hulk to battle.  So why not Tony? Couldn't he at least just - sit on the Quinjet and talk to Bruce or something?

He had nothing better to do than worry over his soulmates (he should  _ be  _ there, watching over them, protecting them), so that's exactly what he did.  Staring miserably at the ceiling, he allowed his mind to drift off to when he'd first discovered the bond…

It had happened purely by accident, if you could believe it.  Two months into the Avengers' relegation to Stark Tower, they'd had a battle at three am in the morning.  Some useless, run-of-the-mill villain just trying to show off his power, of course, but they'd had to go fight him anyway.  Here's where things got messy: see, most people wore bandages or wraps on their hips to cover their soulmarks, because they were private.  Personal. Showing them was akin to baring your soul.

Anyway, Bruce had, by some divine intervention, forgotten to wear the special wrap Tony had made for him whenever he changed into the Hulk.  Thus, as soon as Bruce shifted back - naked for the world to see - the Avengers had been hit with a real shock: Bruce was their soulmate. And so, apparently, was everyone else.

Basically, the entire situation had been awkward as hell, but soon enough, Natasha and Steve and Clint and Bruce were all touching each other's soulmarks, watching reverently as the black-and-white marks they'd had for so long on their hips turned a brilliant array of colors.  Of course, two marks were still blanked out - one was Bucky's, as they'd find out later, and one was Tony's - but it didn't matter. Immediately after getting back to the Tower, Tony had disappeared into his penthouse, unable to face the charged emotions between each of his teammates.  For a few seconds when he'd first accidentally glimpsed Bruce's long trail of soulmarks, he had felt complete and utter shock - and then, elation. But he'd forgotten his place. And more importantly, for a moment he'd even tricked himself into believing that his team would be  _ happy  _ to discover he shared their soulbond.

"I can't believe I found them," Bruce would choke out later to Tony in the privacy of their lab, shaking his head.  "Hell, Rogers was supposed to be dead. I wasn't even registered in the soulmark databases - none of us were. We might not have ever found each other."

_ Yeah,  _ Tony thought as a bitter ache spread throughout his chest, but he still managed to push a smile onto his face.  "I'm happy for you," he said honestly, patting his fellow science buddy on the back. "You deserve it - them, I mean."

Suddenly, his cell rang with a familiar tone, jerking Tony abruptly out of his stupor.  As his mind jolted back into the present, he realized the tinny tune was the theme song for  _ Pirates of the Caribbean,  _ "He's a Pirate."  Tony snorted - ah, that joke would never get old - as he picked up his phone.  "Nicky! What brings you to call little ol' me?"

"Stark," Fury's voice sounded from the other end.  "We need you to come in. There's been an accident."

Instantly, Tony grew suspicious.  "Accident?" he said, trying to quell the sudden fear that had rooted into his insides.  The images of his teammates - his  _ soulmates -  _ flashed through his mind.  "My definition of accident or your definition of accident?"

"It's the team," Fury said without buttering it up.  He sighed, the most emotion Tony had heard in a long time from the guy.  "They're not injured, exactly, but it's hard to explain. Get your ass over to base, Stark.  Coulson will talk you through what happened."

"We're taking care of it," Coulson said when Tony landed at the SHIELD base.  (Yes, Coulson was alive - it had been quite the shocker to discover when Tony went rooting through SHIELD's servers for fun.)  "There's no real threat - some kid with magical powers was messing around, thought he could use the base for experiments since he lives in a town a few miles away.  We're interrogating him right now."

Tony chuckled, even though the noise was strained even to his own ears.  "So where are they?" he forced himself to ask. "Stop beating around the bush, Phil.  Are they okay? Where's my team?"

"Okay," Coulson said, stopping in the middle of the hallway and turning to face Tony fully.  "Therein lies the issue. They're still your teammates, but - they don't...remember anything."

"Wait," Tony said.  This day was just getting better and better, wasn't it.  "You're telling me they have  _ amnesia?"   _ Did this mean they wouldn't remember Tony?  Did this mean they didn't remember who had their soulmarks?

Coulson stopped in front of the med bay.  "No, it's...not amnesia. Also, they should all be asleep right now.  We've got them on a lot of drugs." His face softened as he studied Tony's face.  "Don't worry, Stark. They're fine, considering."

_ "Considering,"  _ Tony began, rolling his eyes as he stepped through the doorway.  "Then what's wrong?" He opened his mouth to continue, but stopped dead as his eyes adjusted to what he was looking at.  "What the hell?"

"Language," Coulson said drily, stepping up beside him.  "Yeah. The kid said he got scared and reacted with the first spell he knew.  Maybe he's an idiot, but he doesn't strike me as a liar."

"You're telling me that a kid who can't control his powers took out almost the entire team," Tony said, shaking his head even as he frantically scanned each bed to make sure all of his soulmates were safe and sound.  He stepped further into the room, still barely able to believe his eyes. Gosh, that frail kid with the shock of blonde hair must be Steve, and - the redhead, Natasha, and -

"Yes, I know.  On the bright side, he says the spell should only last for a month or two.  Even wet his pants when he realized he'd done that to the Avengers."

Tony huffed.  "A month or two?  Jesus. Who's gonna take care of the squirts?"

Coulson paused and regarded him carefully.  "I'm sure SHIELD can find a few high clearance agents with adequate childbearing abilities."

Tony sputtered.  "Kids?  _ SHIELD agents?   _ Jesus, just look at Steve - can he even breathe without a ventilator?  You want a government agent with no personality taking care of Captain America?  Are they even - are they even potty-trained?"

"Is there a better option?" Coulson asked placidly, ignoring the "potty-trained" question completely.  Okay, so, Tony figured they probably all were, since they looked to be of ages ranging from five to seven - but why was Coulson giving him that judgy look?  It was a perfectly valid question, really.

_ "Me!"  _ Tony exclaimed sotto voce; although affronted, he didn't want to risk waking his teammates - well, the kids, and wasn't  _ that  _ weird - up.  "I'm rich, I can buy kid toys and diapers or - whatever shit six, six?  Year olds need. And I'm not  _ boring." _

Finally, a small smile crossed Coulson's face.  "I'm sure you'll do just fine with them, Stark. I hope you prove Fury and the rest of them wrong; they assumed that there was no way you'd even volunteer."

Tony stared, squirming under the other man's placid gaze.  "Huh? Wait, no, screw you, I take it back, I'd be a horrible dad - caretaker - I'd be like Howard, you _conniving_ manipulating Agent - "

"I'll leave you to it," Coulson said, patting him on the shoulder as he turned to leave.  "I know you care enough to try for those kids. You care about people more than you let on."

"No I don't," Tony said weakly as he watched Coulson depart.  Then he turned back to the beds full of his deaged teammates and swallowed hard.  This...this was going to be a disaster.

 

Everyone was crying and Tony was panicking inside.  Fury had sent SHIELD agents over once the kids had woken up, and SHIELD really had no social awareness  _ what _ soever, because apparently the organization's way of breaking the "deaged" news to a bunch of six and seven year olds was to tell them they were in the future and thus their families were all dead.  Hence a bunch of wailing children and Tony struggling to handle it all alone _ ,  _ because the agents had taken one goddamn look at the puffy faces and scrunched noses and said, "It's all you now, Stark."  Talk about avoiding responsibility.

Bucky was clinging to Steve like they were each other's lifelines, a fierce scowl on his face and his body shielding Steve from Tony.  Natasha was poised in a defensive fighting stance even though her eyes were darting around and her little shoulders were shaking. Bruce was on the ground, naked fear running through his entire form, and Clint was sucking in panicked breaths and struggling - and failing - not to cry.  

"Hey," Tony said softly, his own voice sounding foreign to his ears.  He raised his hands, hoping it would convey an air of "non-intimidating adult."  "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"Stay away!" Clint shouted, trembling even as he raised his fists.  "You - you - you liar!"

"Whoa there, I didn't lie, and neither did the scary men in suits."  Tony chuckled a little, hoping to ease the tension, but it was the completely wrong move - Bucky and Steve simultaneously growled at him.  "Sorry, I shouldn't have laughed. I promise I'm not laughing at you." Tony lowered his hands. "I know it sounds crazy, and I would be scared  _ shi -  _ crapless - in your position.  But I can prove you're in the future, and that I'm a good guy."

"Fine then," Bucky said, arms still wrapped around Steve.  The challenge was clear in both his gaze and the way he fought to keep his tone from wavering.  "Show us."

"Okay, firstly," Tony said, "what year is it, Steve, Bucky?"

"How do you know my nickname for Bucky?" Steve shouted.  "Buck, he's a kidnapper, he knows everything - "

_ "Or  _ you're in the future and I know future you," Tony pointed out.  "What year is it, Steve?"

"1924," Steve hissed.  "'M not  _ stupid." _

"No it's not," Clint said, narrowing his eyes at Steve.  "It's 1992."

"Yes it is!" Steve said, voice taking a sharp rise in both pitch and volume.  "You're just dumb."

"Kids," Tony said placatingly before anything could get any worse.  Where the hell was SHIELD when people actually needed them? "Remember what the boring weirdos said about time travel?  You're in the future."

"That doesn't make any sense," Steve said stubbornly.  "I'm not a  _ hundred." _

"Well…"  Tony bit his bottom lip.  "It's complicated, Steve."

"I think you're lying," Bucky proclaimed, lifting his chin.  "C'mon, Steve, we've gotta get out of here."

"I'm coming," Clint piped up as he threw Tony a nasty glare.

"Goddammit," Tony said, ignoring the shocked gasps the swear elicited from each child.  "First of all, the big bad agents will come and get you if you try to run, so trust me, I'm the safest option.  Secondly, here - just - look out the window. Does this look like, I don't know, the sixties, the twenties, to you?"

Tentatively, the children - and wow, that was weird, knowing that these little human beings were his teammates/soulmates (wasn't that also kind of pedophilic considering the situation) - crept over to the large windows as Tony pulled back the curtains.  "Here," he said, praying they'd stop fussing around and believe him after that. This was utterly ridiculous and Fury deserved to be shot in the ass. "Look, see? Pretty views and futuristic buildings?"

For a second, all the kids did was stare.  Surprisingly enough, Bruce was the least afraid - instead of shrinking back like he'd been doing for the past half hour, he pressed his face to the glass, eyes wide with wonder.  "Cool, right?" Tony said, unconsciously reaching out to smooth a hand over the boy's brown curls. "That's the twenty first century for you."

Immediately, Bruce flinched back and threw his hands up, cringing away from Tony.  "Shit," Tony said, stepping back instantly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.  That wasn't your fault, alright? That was on me for being a big dummy and touching you without asking first or letting you know.  I'm sorry."

"Y-you're sorry?" Bruce said, eyes widening impossibly further.

"Yeah," Tony said softly, clamping down on the tidal waves of emotion he felt from Bruce's obvious fear.  "I'm sorry, that was my fault. I won't touch you unless you want me to."

Bruce exchanged looks with Natasha, who simply shrugged even as the tension lining her shoulders didn't dissipate.  

"Bullies don't apologize," Steve whispered with a frown to Bucky.

"Okay, I'm kind of rude, but I'm not a bully," Tony said, rolling his eyes.  He spread his arms. "Do you guys trust me now?"

"No," Natasha said, the first word she'd spoken since she'd woken up in the bed.  Her words were marked with a lilting Russian accent. "That would be stupid."

"Okay, well."  Tony shrugged his shoulders, looked out the window.  The sky was crystal blue - pristine, perfect, and completely at odds to how he was feeling.  "I think the scary men want me to take you all home to where your adult selves live. You don't have to, but I promise I'll be a better host than they could be."

"Are you gonna hurt us," Bruce asked quietly.  The silence nearly swallowed up his entire voice, which hitched up at the end.  

"Of course not."  Tony smiled, trying to act more confident than he seemed.  Jesus, he had no experience at being a dad - being a caretaker.  The only father figure he'd ever had was Jarvis, and Jarvis had died when he was ten.  "That doesn't mean there won't be rules, but you guys will have to live with me until you're grown up again."

"Fine," Clint huffed, but his tone was watered down now, more diluted.  He seemed worn out from crying. "But magic's not real."

Tony nodded his head readily.  "Maybe you're right, but no matter what happened, you guys are still tiny and I need to take care of you.  Don't worry, you'll love the house - I ordered J - my butler - to deliver some clothes and toys to the Tower already.  It'll be fun."

"Fun," Natasha said, her little brows furrowing.  She started muttering in Russian.

"Okay, never mind," Tony said, pulling his grin back up onto his face.  It felt slimy, sticky - like it didn't belong there at all. "And Fury, I know you're listening.  I hope you've got a jet prepared, because I have six midgets on my hands."

 

For the most part, Tony left the mini-Avengers alone.  They seemed to settle down on the ride home, partially because Tony had provided them with candy they'd never seen before and partially because they spent more time looking out the windows and generally gaping around wide-eyed than concentrating on Tony.  When they arrived, J - good, trustworthy J - had already ordered boxes packed to the brim with kid-proof things (including Tony's requested kid-friendly medicines and inhalers) waiting in the elevator, and Tony set to work laying out sleeping bags in his penthouse living room in order to keep a better eye on them (although by all means he could've just sent them to their individual floors to sleep).  It was just because it'd be easier for him in case they decided to wreak havoc or something, Tony told himself. Yeah. That was why.

It broke his heart a little that Natasha was so wary of all of them, curling up behind the couch so that not even her red hair could be spotted, but he dared not go near her in fear of spooking her even more.  Bruce seemed less wary, but he was definitely afraid of Tony - he watched the man with distinct apprehension even when Tony was more than fifteen feet away. He wanted to - God, he wanted to pick all of them up and hug them or  _ something.   _ But as it were, they were all frightened and wanted their dead parents more than they wanted some futuristic stranger.  Tony tried to pretend like it didn't hurt; after all, he should be used to it by now because it wasn't like he was more than acquaintances with the adult Avengers.  It wasn't like the adult versions even knew he was the missing soulmate to their six-person bond.

After awkwardly bidding good night to the kids and retiring to his own room down the hall (they were surprisingly compliant when it came to brushing teeth), he quickly drifted off into an uneasy sleep.  He wasn't sure how long he'd been unconscious when he was suddenly jerked out of the darkness by JARVIS's voice: "Sir, wake up. Sir."

"JARVIS?" Tony mumbled.  Both his mouth and head felt like they were full of stuffing.  "Wh's up?" Suddenly, his mind cleared and he remembered the tiny Avengers he had in his living room.  "Is it the kids? What's wrong?"

"Natasha seems to be having a nightmare, Sir," JARVIS responded.  "The other children appear to be quite frightened."

"Oh,  _ shit,"  _ Tony hissed, rolling out of bed and heading out the door as fast as he could.  He reached the living room to find Natasha pressed into the side of the couch, one hand over her mouth as she tried to stifle her sobs, and fat tears glistening on her cheeks.  The other kids were watching her with wide eyes, and Bruce caught sight of Tony first - instantly, he scrambled back, alerting the others' attention.  

"It's okay, I'm not angry," Tony said softly.  He crossed the living room and crouched down slowly next to the shaking little girl.  "Hey. Tasha. Look at me."

Natasha pressed herself farther back into the couch but raised her head, eyes wide and frightened but chin steady nevertheless.  

"Hey, you had a nightmare, huh?"  Tony sat down in front of her, crossing his legs.  "It must've been pretty scary, huh?"

Natasha shook her head.

"No?"  Tony leaned forward conspiratorially.  "That's pretty brave of you, then. Here's a secret - I have nightmares all the time.  Everyone tells me I'm too old to have nightmares, but that's not true. I've been through a lot of scary things, so it's normal that sometimes I dream about them or things I'm scared of happening."

Natasha's eyes were luminous as she finally looked directly into his eyes.  "Really?" Her voice was a wisp of a whisper.

"Really, really.  I get scared a lot."  Tony felt a lump in his throat.  "Sometimes I dream about the things that other people did to me.  A lot of times I dream about the adult versions of you dying, too.  I care about you all a lot, and it would hurt me badly if anything ever happened to you."

"It's dangerous to care about people," Natasha said softly.  "That's what my trainer tells me."

"It might be dangerous to some people, but it feels very good," Tony said.  He slowly inched a hand out. "Can I hug you?"

"Hugging is for babies."  The girl looked away.

"Okay."  Natasha's eyes shot to him again, clearly having expecting a rebuke for refusing, but Tony just gave her a small smile.  "I don't want hugs sometimes either. But I think hugging is for all ages. When I'm sad, my best friend Rhodey will hug me - and we're both pretty old."

"That's kind of weird."  Natasha twisted her hands in her lap.

Tony shrugged.  "Maybe so, but it's nice.  Just don't think you can't come to me for hugs, because I will always be up for hugging you, okay?"  He glanced over at the other children, who were huddled closer together now and staring blatantly. "That goes for you all, too."

Bruce uncurled slowly from his balled-up position on the floor.

"I'm sorry you had a nightmare," Tony said softly.  "I hate them too. Hey, you're probably not sleepy anymore, right?"

Natasha nodded her head after a beat, and the rest of the kids tentatively followed suit.

"Okay, let's not make this a habit because I read on the Internet that it's unhealthy to let kids eat late at night, but how about we get some ice cream from the fridge downstairs and watch TV, huh?"

"What's ice cream?" said Steve, frowning.  "You can't just eat ice and cream, that's weird."

"Hey, squirt," Tony warned.  "Don't touch ice cream, ice cream is holy.  And besides, weird is mostly subjective."

"What's - "

"Trust me, you'll enjoy it," he said.  "It's good. Come on, mini-Avengers. We've got a common kitchen downstairs."

"Wow!" Steve exclaimed when he finally tried the dessert.  There was a cold chocolate stream dripping down his chin and Tony handed him a napkin, resisting the urge to wipe Steve's face himself.   _ Just so he doesn't drip on the couch,  _ he told himself.   _ It's a nice couch _ .  "Thish ish good."

"Yeah, definitely," Tony agreed.  He looked around, tamping down a smile as he saw all of his kids - no, no,  _ the  _ kids, his deaged teammates - enjoying the ice cream.  "Feel better, Natasha?"

Although the tiny redhead was still obviously wary around him, she looked at him directly in the eyes as she nodded.  "Thank you, sir."

"Just Tony is fine," Tony said, smiling at her.  "No Doctors or Misters or Sirs, just Tony."

"My Ma taught me it's not polite to call adults by their first names," Steve spoke up, frowning.  "It's s'posed t' be rude."

"Well, remember that I know the grown-up versions of you guys," Tony said.  "And you guys call me Tony all the time. So. It's just nice. Plus, you don't know this because you're all tiny and shrunken, but even adults don't like being called 'mister' all the time."

Clint snickered, but Tony sensed the fear flickering behind that air full of bravado.  "Ok, Mister Tony."

Tony pointed a finger at him.  "Uh uh. Eat your dessert. JARVIS?  Could you play a movie for us, please?"

"Certainly," his AI said, and while the kids all collectively shifted at the sound of the bodiless voice, Tony was relieved to see that they were no longer outright flinching like they had the first few times around.  Kids were adaptable; they adjusted to new situations surprisingly quickly. And just as well, because it had only been half a day and Tony was already half-considering ringing up Fury and making him find a nice,  _ qualified  _ babysitter to come over to Avengers Tower.  

JARVIS - God bless JARVIS - put on Big Hero 6, and soon enough, all of the kids were enraptured - even Clint, the little rascal, and Bucky, who hadn't stopped sulking since the hospital.  Bruce's eyes were wide and shining, and Natasha kept leaning forward on the couch before jerking herself back consciously. By the halfway point, however, each child's eyes were drooping, and Tony vaguely remembered that the normal sleep amount for a six to seven year old was twelve hours.  Yeesh.  

He felt a soft weight settle against his side all of a sudden, and found Natasha curled up into him, having obviously lost the fight to keep her eyes open any longer.  Carefully, he settled his arm around her and stroked her hair gently, mimicking what his Mama used to do when he was lying in bed sick. Glancing around the room, he saw the others asleep as well: Cint was snuggled into the armrest; Steve and Bucky were smushed into the pillows, limbs entangled; and Bruce had his head down and his knees tucked up to his chest.

Tony felt an ache filling him as he watched the scene.  It was so domestic, so domestic that it hurt - this was the kind of thing he wanted with his soulmates as adults, Natasha curled up next to him and the Brooklyn boys to his left.   _ This  _ is what he craved during movie nights - not all of his soulmates together on one side of the couch and he on the other, but  _ together.   _ And yet, this was also exactly what he couldn't have, and it was sick of him for using these deaged versions as a step-in for his fantasies.  Tony was destined to be alone; the marks trailing down his hips meant nothing. The rest of the team most likely viewed him as barely more than a necessary annoyance.  He had never been good at making relationships work anyway.

In fact, how many relationships had he really even had in the first place?  The longest one he'd ever had was with Pepper, and even  _ she  _ had left him, citing differences that were, in her words, merely a sign of two good people who just didn't mesh completely.  Tony called bullshit, though; Pepper was just too nice, wanted to let him down easy. And besides that? In the past decade or so, he'd only ever been with Pepper.  Before that were a few poorly-chosen girlfriends and a variety of one night stands.

So.  Yeah.  Basically, Tony Stark was the Avengers' sixth soulmate, but he wasn't worthy of their time or consideration.  Steve was Captain America, the guy every kid had grown up worshipping, and the person behind the mask was even better.  Bucky was Captain America's famed sidekick, the bad boy with the pretty metal arm and Brooklyn drawl, who went through seventy years of torture and came out kicking.  Natasha was gorgeous, with her red hair and green eyes and ability to murder people with a broken arm and a paperclip; and Clint could hit a bullseye from half a mile away while barely looking.  Not to mention Bruce, who was one of the brightest minds Tony had ever met and who drank Oolong tea and liked foreign documentaries. And who was Tony but a murderer, a playboy, just another rich prick pretending he was a philanthropist by offering up a portion of his expensive time and huge bank account to people who would never even know what a mansion looked like.  His teammates may have already made up for their mistakes a hundred times over, but Tony would have to work forever for even the slightest sliver of redemption. And he was pretty sure they all knew it.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he looked up to find Bruce watching him from the other end of the couch.  "Hey kiddo, you alright?" he whispered.

Bruce nodded hesitantly before slipping off the couch and padding over.  "T - Tony," he mumbled, twisting his hands into his JARVIS-provided shirt.  "I, um…"

"It's okay, kid, you can say it.  I promise I won't judge."

"You were really nice to her."  Bruce nodded at Natasha, who was still snoozing into Tony's lap.  "D - Do you promise we're in the future? That you won't hurt us?"

"I promise," Tony said quietly, but no less firmly.

Bruce didn't seem to believe him, so he sighed, turning slightly on the couch to better face the child but slowly so as to not wake Natasha.  "I know you've probably had, uh, bad experiences with adults. There are a lot of bad people in the world, people who have probably wanted to hurt you before and have, and people who have hurt others.  But I pinky-promise, cross my heart and hope to die, all that shi - uh, crap" - Tony internally fist-pumped when he saw the slightest hint of a smile flash across Bruce's face - "that I'm not going to hurt you.  I would never hurt you. Or any of the others, for that matter. Like, even if I'm mad at you, I might raise my voice by accident, but I wouldn't ever…" Tony swallowed. "Uh, touch you. Or hit you. Okay?"

"Okay," Bruce mumbled, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one pudgy hand.  It was an action so akin to the older Bruce's that Tony couldn't help the brief ache that welled up inside him.  

"Get some sleep," Tony said, offering a smile he hoped was more fatherly than it felt.  He looked around the darkened living room, and the sight of all his sleeping kids evoked something strange in himself that he hadn't felt for a long time.  "Good night, Bruce."

 

Tony woke up to realize he was drooling into his pillow.  Great.

He sat up, wiping the corner of his mouth with a sleeve; for a moment he felt vague disorientation and then panic when the last thing he remembered was being on the couch and then - 

Oh, yeah.

After he was sure Bruce had gone to sleep, he had gently removed himself from under Natasha's body and gone back to his own room to rest.  Luckily, JARVIS hadn't woken him up for anything else, so he assumed all the kids were sleeping or at least not doing anything dangerous.  

"Time, JARVIS?  How are the kids?" he yawned into an open hand, using the other to scrub the bleariness away from his eyes.  

"They are all still sleeping, Sir," JARVIS reported back to him not a second later, and Tony allowed himself a brief second of appreciation for his wonderful and often-unacknowledged AI.  "And it is eight sixteen am."

"Okay, thanks, J.  You're the best," he mumbled as he struggled out of bed.  After brushing his teeth and splashing cold water on his face to wake his brain up (how did people function without coffee, this was blasphemous), he stumbled down the hallway and out into the kitchen.  Blindly fumbling for the coffee pot, he grabbed a mug out of the cupboard and proceeded to pour himself beautifully dark, unsweetened, scalding coffee. He let out a pleased sigh as its rich aroma filled the room.

"Sir," JARVIS said as he was halfway through his first mug.  "The children have begun to wake up."

"Aw, shit."  Tony frowned, scrubbing a hand down his face.  "J, what do children eat? Poptarts? Cereal? Cheetos?  I don't know."

"Cereal sounds advisable," JARVIS said dryly, the snot.  "I do not believe Cheetos would be a wise idea."

"Yeah, yeah," Tony said grumpily, flapping a hand.  "Make fun of me all you want. It's not like  _ I  _ eat breakfast."

"I am well aware, Sir," came the sardonic reply.

Tony started rummaging through the cabinets.  He'd ordered cereal yesterday, hadn't he? Or was it oatmeal?  In fact, had he actually ordered anything himself or had he just relied on JARVIS to do the job?

"You put cereal in the cabinet second to the right," JARVIS informed him.

Tony set out a carton of milk - whole milk, which might've been more unhealthy than low fat but sue him, low fat tasted like  _ cardboard -  _ and orange juice, for good measure.  Orange juice was  _ good  _ with cereal, and besides, it might trick the little squirts into getting some potassium into their bodies.  He lined up five bowls neatly on the counter alongside a row of Cheerios, Froot Loops, Cocoa Pebbles, Lucky Charms, and Frosted Flakes.  He figured it was smarter to buy a ton of cereal than to buy too little, right?

Steve was the first one to appear at the threshold to the kitchen, Bucky close behind.  Steve's eyes went eerily wide as he stared at all the cereal choices on the counter, grabbing onto Bucky's hand and holding tightly.  "Good morning, Steve, Bucky," Tony said, making sure to plaster a friendly smile on his face. He waved at the bowls. "Uh, just go for it.  You can eat whatever you want and as much as you want, just make sure you don't take all of it. Sharing is caring, right?"

The kids didn't look amused.  Steve whispered something to Bucky, who nodded back.  In tandem, they marched into the kitchen.

Okay, two squirts down, three to go.  Next, Bruce and Clint appeared, and while Clint gave Tony a dirty look similar to that of a disgruntled Hawkeye post that-one-battle-that-shall-never-be-talked-about-again, Bruce offered him a small, if wobbly, smile.  "Hey, kiddos. Just take a seat, get what you want. The milk might be a little heavy, so ask me if you need help pouring, 'kay?"

"I don't need help," Steve said immediately, and Bucky nodded quickly in agreement.

"I know."  Tony shrugged.  "But it  _ is  _ heavy.  I have problems pouring by myself sometimes, too.  Just keeping the options open."

After a few minutes of lingering in front of the counter, surreptitiously checking the others every so often (they seemed to all still be enraptured by the many types of cereal available), Tony felt the first niggling inches of worry creep up on him.  "J, where's Natasha?"

"Natasha is fine," JARVIS assured him, and Tony felt the relief poof out of him in one big breath.  "However, she appears to be waiting to enter the kitchen. Perhaps if you started breakfast with everyone else, she would feel more comfortable entering the kitchen alone."

"Alright," Tony muttered to himself, and turned back to his other kids.  Steve was struggling to twist the cap on the milk carton open as Bucky and Clint clung to it, holding it down against the counter.  He opened his mouth to ask if they needed help, but decided against it as he remembered Steve's weird thing about assistance.  

Sure enough, as soon as Steve's skinny arms tried to hoist the carton into the air to pour it, he dropped it almost immediately.  Luckily, the boys managed to catch it before it tipped over, but some milk splashed past the rim and onto the floor, counter, and parts of Bucky's shirt.

The air stilled, and everyone seemed to freeze.

Steve's face was quickly turning a bright red, and Bucky, Clint, and Bruce were watching Tony guardedly, as if expecting him to get mad.  Well, correction - Bucky looked protective, inching closer to Steve as if Tony were going to punish the kid, but Clint and Bruce looked stiff as boards.  It didn't take a genius to know what they were afraid of, and it made Tony's chest ache for what his teammates must have gone through as kids.

"I think maybe I should stick to the pouring from now on, yeah?  Those things are pretty heavy." Tony plucked a stack of napkins from the paperware on the wall counter and got to work wiping the stray liquid from off the floor.  He handed a few to Steve. "Take care of the milk on the counter."

"It was an  _ accident,"  _ Steve said loudly, bottom lip trembling.  He scowled fiercely, not looking at Tony.

Tony raised an eyebrow.  "I know. Everyone spills from time to time.  The important thing is cleaning up the mess you made."

Steve's head jerked up, and for a second, those blue eyes just stared at him.  "I didn't mean to do it."

"Yes, I know."  Tony nodded at the spill.  "That doesn't mean you're going to just leave the milk on the counter though, are you?"

"No."  After a pause, Steve slowly reached out a skinny wrist and began to wipe down the counters, Clint and Bucky eagerly assisting him.

Flicking the soggy napkins into the trash, Tony stood up and grabbed the milk carton.  As he proceeded to fill each respective bowl with milk, he suddenly caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye.  Something small, and quiet, and red…

Tony fought to turn to Natasha, knowing somehow in his heart that she wouldn't come in if he were paying attention to her.  As he surreptitiously watched, Natasha slinked in and past Tony, who pretended like there was nothing more interesting at present than pouring milk.  

"Hi, Natasha," Steve said when he caught sight of her, ever the polite - if way too defensive and stubborn - kid.  

Tony casually finished pouring milk into the last bowl of cereal and pushed an empty bowl towards the girl.  "We've got a lot of cereal options," he said easily. "I personally prefer Lucky Charms, I think they're unhealthy and fun to eat, but of course it's up to you."

"Thank you," Natasha said quietly.  She fingered the rim of the bowl uneasily, her eyes darting around to the others'.

Tony turned away, trusting she'd be able to pick the cereal she wanted without help.  Sure enough, minutes later he heard the telltale sign of cereal clinking into the bowl - it was Lucky Charms.  The precise and careful way the kid was pouring reminded him so much of Natasha that it brought a pained smile to his face as he thought of the older version of the redheaded assassin.  Maybe Natasha and he had always had a distant, if not strained, relationship, but it didn't mean he didn't care for her. After a year of living with her, and getting to know her (if not in the intimate way soulmates often did), he knew what kind of coffee she liked, her favorite vodka, how and when she liked to wear socks, that the ballet studio he'd gifted her last month was something she'd wanted for a very long time.  So yeah, maybe the older Natasha would never love him as much as he did her, but he could at least take care of his team as best he could while they were kids.  

Having learned his lesson about allowing the kids to have their pride, Tony took the bowl from Natasha before she could protest.  "Milk or orange juice?"

"Orange juice?" Natasha said, frowning, then immediately flinched.  " _ Izvinyayus,  _ sorry," she whispered.  

"Sorry for what?"  Tony hoped his smile looked kind and, well, not scary.  "Do you want to try it with milk first maybe and see how you like orange juice after?  You can have more than just this bowl, you know."

"Yes, please."  Natasha ducked her head, red tinting her cheeks as her Russian accent thickened again.

After everyone had finished eating breakfast, Tony took all their plates and dumped them in the dishwasher.  He knew that older-Steve would have given him a look full of exasperation if he were here to witness this, but Tony was honestly too worn out by having to take care of children -  _ six  _ children - to mind whether or not he was washing dishes the "proper" way.  "JARVIS," he said as he turned the television on, hoping to distract the kids with the wonders of...what appeared to be some weird cartoon pig show.  "What do kids, uh, normally do? And while you're busy answering that, send a message to Fury asking what in the fuck his incompetent scientists are up to and whether or not they've found a cure yet."

"Certainly, Sir," JARVIS said, wisely choosing not to snark at his creator.  "According to internet sources, kids enjoy a variety of activities, ranging from playing with toys, and going to the beach, the park, the pool, amusement parks, or ice cream stores."

"Okay, toys, toys," Tony said, scratching his head.  "Great, yeah, we have those, right, J? You ordered some?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Anything else?"  Tony sighed. "We can't really do anything that requires going outside, and I guess I could install a pool within the next two days but both options would end  _ very  _ badly - unless I took them to Malibu, Fury wouldn't kill me for that, would he?  How are the renovations going on the house that the Mandarin blew up?"

"The Malibu mansion is nearly finished.  However, for now I would recommend activities possible within the Tower, such as baking, making pillow forts, and playing with toys."

"Coulda just said that earlier," Tony grumped.  "I'll go get the toys, I guess - how many boxes are there, JARV?"

"Fourteen," JARVIS said, and there it was, that telltale mocking amusement that shouldn't be possible in an AI's voice and yet was.  "If I remember correctly, Sir, you demanded I order an abundance of children's supplies because, and I quote,  _ 'the only crap I ever played with was soldering irons at that age and look how I turned out; anyway, aren't toys supposed to speed up child development?  Can I make them into mini adults if I give them enough Legos? - hell, JARVIS, just order, I don't know, a couple aisles, send them back to the Tower pronto.'" _

"Let's see how funny you are when you're transmitting coffee orders for a bunch of CalTech undergrads, hmm?" Tony muttered as he marched to the elevator.  It was a dangerous move in his opinion, leaving the kids to their own devices for even a few minutes, but they looked enraptured with that dumb TV show.  Huh, on second thought, hadn't he read somewhere that watching too much TV as a kid could fry your processing skills?

After three boxes, Tony was winded, so he settled on using only those three.  He figured you shouldn't show all the cards in your hand on the first week anyway, right?  "Hey, kids," he said as he pushed the huge UPS boxes into the living room. He clapped his hands, causing them all to turn around quick as lightning.  Bruce flinched and nearly fell off the couch.

"Sorry, sorry," Tony muttered.  God, it seemed like he couldn't do anything without screwing up _ \-  _ and he'd only brought them home  _ yesterday.   _ "He motioned to the cardboard boxes in front of him, boxcutter already in hand.  "I've got some...toys, yeah, toys. For playing. If you guys, you know, do that?  Play?"

Five blank stares looked back at him.

"Okay, hm, okay."  Tony got down and started cutting open the first box.  "Maybe not. But it's okay, I never had toys as a kid either.  We can learn together."

"I've had toys before," Clint said.  "I was Robin Hood for Halloween last year and my brother stole a bow-and-arrow set from Toys 'R' Us for me."

"Oh," Tony said, and decided not to ask further questions.  "Well, I promise you'll enjoy these toys just as much." As he pulled the top flaps of the first box open, he breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing what was inside - and sure enough, suction cup arrows and a plastic bow lay on top, plain to see.  God, he just really, really loved JARVIS.

"Would you look at that!" he said, injecting cheerfulness into his voice.  He pulled the bow-and-arrow set out, the cheer in his tone becoming real as he watched Clint scamper over.  

"Did you steal this too?"  Clint's eyes were wide as dinner plates.

"Uh, no."  Tony handed the set over.  "Bought this with my money."

"You didn't have to buy toys for us, mister Tony," Steve said, even as he snuck closer to the opened box to see what else was inside.  He seemed more trusting after the milk incident from this morning, even though he also seemed a bit more shy and embarrassed around Tony now.

"Just Tony," Tony said, chuckling a bit.  He motioned toward the box. "Go for it, kiddo.  It's fine. I have a lot of money."

"Yeah, but…"  Steve shot a look at Bucky.

"You must have a  _ lotta  _ money to live here, and still afford toys, and cereal," Bucky added, studying Tony suspiciously.  "An' I never heard of you in my  _ life." _

"It's the future now, remember?" Tony tried to say as gently as he could.  "So it's normal that you wouldn't have heard of me."

Instantly, the atmosphere in the room chilled again, and Tony tried to save the kids' quickly diminishing moods as well as he could.  "Hey, look at this," he said, pulling out a finger-painting set from the first box. "Steve, you like art, don't you? Actually, finger-painting is pretty fun, I've never done it before but it makes a huge mess and kids like that, don't kids like that?  Here, why don't we all finger-paint together!"

"Finger-painting?" Steve said, frowning, but luckily, the incoming crisis had been averted for the time being.  "What's that?"

"You basically just paint with your fingers," Tony informed him.  He tore the plastic off and realized that while this stupid, overpriced box had thirty five different color options, there had been no canvases or  _ anything  _ provided within this money-grubbing -

Okay, no.  It wouldn't do to go on a rant in front of a bunch of six-year-old kids.

"Do you guys know a mural is?"

As expected, each kid slowly shook their heads, glancing at each other as if afraid they'd be the only ones unaware of the term.

"Great, okay," Tony said.  He dipped his fingers into a deep square of red paint.  "It's basically when you paint on a wall. Murals normally have deep meanings, but screw that, it's fun to just paint.  Here, we can decorate the living room, yeah? Seems a little bland to me anyway."

To be honest, his private penthouse living room was disgustingly bare.  At least the shared Avengers living room was minimalistically attractive, but Tony had never found a real reason to decorate something that only he'd ever see.  Sure, his living room was nice and all - thanks to the designers he'd hired - but it was pretty plain.

"O-on the walls?" Bruce squeaked out, looking horrified before clapping his hands over his mouth.  

"Sir - I mean, Tony," Bucky said warily, "wouldn't that be ruining your walls?"

Tony shrugged.  "It needs a bit of color, don't you think?"

"It's a little boring, I guess," Clint commented.  He twisted his hands in his lap, eyeing the finger Tony had doused in red.

"Okay, how about I start, and you guys follow, alright?"  Tony flashed the kids an encouraging smile.  

He started by drawing the outline of a large red square on the east wall.  It was ugly and the lines were wobbly and drippy, but it didn't matter - only seconds after, he saw Clint scuttle over and carefully dip a finger into the long purple tube.  

Soon enough, everyone was painting on the walls.  Steve and Bucky were busy smearing their fingers on each other and laughing, and Clint looked pretty pleased with himself as he tried to show off his art skills to Nat and Bruce.  Tony, who was still slowly and methodically filling out his red square, couldn't help the soft smile that enveloped his face as he watched the kids slowly begin to enjoy themselves.  Of course, he would've rather finger-painted with them all as his grown-up teammates, but this...this was nice, too. Despite knowing what a shitty father he'd be, he'd always wondered - what if?  What if he  _ did  _ somehow manage to acquire a kid?  What if he  _ did  _ do something right?  And, well - the mini-Avengers were honestly adorable.  Bruce, timid and big-eyed; Natasha, who wasn't as graceful as her older self but meticulous all the same; Clint, brash and brave all at once; Steve, stubborn as seven hells; Bucky, the slightly over-protective big brother.  

Out of the blue, Steve appeared at his hip, paint already smudged across half his face and clumping his blonde bangs together.  That'd be hell to clean up - or maybe Tony could just give him a haircut. "Mister Tony," he said, enunciating every word as best he could.  Tony wasn't fooled - that wide-eyed expression was the oldest trick in the book - but he could feel himself caving into Steve's yet-unspoken demands anyway.  

"What's up, squirt?"

"I hadda dream last night," Steve began.  He pointed at the red square on the wall. "It was real good, there was a robot an' everything, it was red, like as red as that, and it could fly.  Could I paint with you maybe? Paint it?"

Tony was momentarily thrown.  There was no way Steve wasn't talking about Iron Man...was the kid somehow regaining his older version's memories?  Did this mean they'd turn back on their own, even sooner than expected?

"Yeah, sure, kiddo," he said faintly.  He gave Steve the best smile he could muster.  "Knock yourself out."

While debating whether or not to phone Coulson and inform him of this new development, he spotted Clint across the room, not really painting anymore but staring dejectedly at the colors smeared on the wall.  "You okay, Clint?" he said as he sat down slowly next to the boy. For some reason, he had the strange urge to run his hand over Clint's hair, but ignored it.

Clint glanced up at him, then looked away, his eyebrows pulling together.  "None of your business."

"Well, I'd like for it to be my business, because I don't like seeing you upset."  Tony scanned Clint's face for any sign of illness, but there was none except for a flush on the kid's cheeks that seemed more due to humiliation than fever.  "You, uh, you were having fun a few minutes ago."

"I'm not upset," Clint said finally.  He crossed his arms and hunched lower.  "This is just stupid. Painting is dumb and I don't see why I have to be good at it."

Ah.  So there was the problem.  "You don't have to be good at it," Tony said, feigning surprise at Clint's statement.  "You see what Steve's painting over there? I did the red square, and that was probably the best thing I've ever painted.  You think painting a square requires talent?"

"Well, no."  Clint eyed him suspiciously, as if expecting a catch.  "But that's different. You were  _ trying  _ to paint a square."

"True," Tony said, shrugging his shoulders, "but trust me, I'd be a terrible artist.  And besides, you're six, no one's expecting you to be professional."

_ "Steve's  _ professional," Clint responded moodily.

Tony snorted.  "Trust me, he's not.  Anyway, I'm not an expert on painting for sure, but I think it's still fun to finger paint for the hell of it.  Look." He dipped his finger into a tube of black and drew a smiley face with brown eyes and a mop of brown hair.  "Hey, that's you."

"Doesn't look like me," Clint muttered, barely looking up.

"Aw, well," Tony said.  "Not everyone can be like Steve.  You don't have to paint any more, alright?  I don't want to make you do something you don't want to do.  But trust me when I say no one here gives a  _ damn  _ whether or not you're good at art, least of all me.  I just want you to do something that makes you happy."

Clint's shoulders were still tensed, but they lowered slightly as he slowly uncoiled from his hunched position.  "You're a pretty bad artist," he said finally. "Your square's all lopsided."

"Finger painting's  _ hard,"  _ Tony replied with a theatrical groan.  "At least you've got youthful hands. Mine are all tired from being old."

Finally, the barest hint of a smile crossed Clint's face, and even though it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, it set a spark of something all warm and fuzzy inside of Tony's stomach.  "How about we draw each other," Tony suggested, and he almost,  _ almost  _ reached out to comb back Clint's hair - but his fingers were stained with black, and that was a bit too paternal anyway.  "Bet mine will turn out uglier than yours."

"You're  _ on,"  _ Clint harrumphed, and Tony couldn't help the burst of surprised laughter that escaped him, as warm as the sensation blooming in his chest.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i am probably gonna revamp this fic so. many. times. lmao. but it's fine...i just know i'm a total sucker for dad!tony because he's such a great dad :( also this is kind of an incomplete chapter because it should've had at least another few scenes after that ending, but oh whale
> 
> anyway, i recommend reading "steve rogers is a child" by laglemon and "heart and soul" by hashtagleh...the first incorporates lots of dad!tony and the second is a huge soulbond :)


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